The Girl With the Buttons and The Boy Who Sees Ghosts
by Miss Luna Clipse
Summary: When Norman Babcock's sister Courtney has to leave for college, the whole family must move to a town in Oregon to be closer to her. They rent a part of The Pink Palace, where Norman meets the awkward Wybie Lovat and the outgoing and imaginative Coraline Jones. Neither of the two tell the other the horrors they have seen. Until now, when an old evil reawakens with a vengeance.
1. Chapter 1

1.

Norman Babcock sighed, dragging his duffel bag out of the car, before looking up at the large manor that stood elegantly before him.

Sixteen now, he was still thin and lanky, and walked with his back hunched and his eyes aimed at the floor. Sleepless nights colored the skin beneath his eyes dark blue. His pale brown hair stuck up straight as ever, his startlingly blue eyes looking almost bored. Of course, life was never boring for Norman Babcock, but few were aware of that.

"_This_ is where we'll be staying?" he said, staring up at the large house in disbelief, "It's–"

"PINK!" Courtney squealed, jumping out of the car, three leopard print travel bags on each arm, "Ohmigosh, Mom, it's perfect!"

Sandra Babcock grunted as she heaved a large suitcase out of the trunk, before smiling tiredly at her daughter. "I'm glad you like it, Courtney," she said, breathing heavily as she carried the suitcase towards the house, "Norman, what are you doing?"

Norman looked up, smiling slightly, as he helped an old woman, invisible to all others, step out of the car onto the jagged gravel driveway. "Just helping Grandma," he told his mother casually, as his grandmother thanked him with a rather wet kiss on the cheek.

Sandra started, dropping the suitcase. "Oh," she said, with a fluttery kind of laugh, "Right. Grandma." She bent over to retrieve the case, it's weight now completely irrelevant to her shortness of breath. It had been a long and uncomfortable ride, knowing that her son was conversing with the empty seat containing her dead, invisible mother-in-law. Courtney had surprised everyone by attempting a nervous, "How are you, G-Grandma?" Though she couldn't hear the response, Norman kindly translated the response to them, which was "Fine dear, just a bit of an ache in my right elbow."

It never failed to amaze the family.

Norman, however, was far from amazed as he stared reproachfully at the house. Once he got past the unusual color, he saw only worn, dirty bricks and precarious balconies with questionably sturdy railings.

"We only own _part of it_?" his sister moaned, "Which part?"

"The bottom one, with the downward stairs," her mother replied, "I was told a pair of actresses lived there, before they passed away. Just think, we get to live where famous people once lived. How exciting!"

Norman carried his duffel over to the front door. "Who else lives here?" he asked, looking up at the lit windows overhead, before opening the door and stepping inside.

"If I'm right, a middle-aged circus man with a funny name lives on the top floor, and a family of gardeners live right above us," his mother said through grit teeth, and she pushed past him, slamming the heavy suitcase down and messaging her own shoulders. "What is _in _this thing?"

"My paperweight collection." Perry Babcock, Norman's father, said, setting a large box marked "Kitchen" on the counter.

Sandra rolled her eyes and went out for more bags, while Courtney hopped up onto a counter and began texting furiously, snapping her gum loudly. "Aren't you going to help?" Norman asked, setting his own bag on the kitchen table.

"Nah," Courtney replied without looking up, "How about you be a saint and carry the rest of my bags to my new room?"

"Who said I'm a saint?" Norman said monotonously.

Courtney snorted irritably. "Will you just do it?" she snapped, still looking at her phone, "God, was I as annoying as you when I was sixteen?"

Norman bit back a laugh. "You have no idea."

When Courtney didn't respond, Norman sighed and went back out into the foggy morning, his hands buried deep in his pockets. As he shuffled to the car, his arms prickled, and he sensed a presence. He raised his head and looked around, but didn't see the source of presence until he nearly stepped on it.

"Oh," he murmured, crouching down and reaching out to the thin black cat before him, "Hey little guy. Who do you belong to?"

"Me, actually, but not technically."

Norman looked up to see a boy in a mask on a bike. In his left hand he held what looked to be a pair of grilling tongs, and a vintage camera was hung around his neck. He fumbled for a lever on the side of his mask, turning it downward and making the circle of lenses on the front rotate, so that the largest lens was right in front of his eye.

Norman took a step back, but the cat sprinted forward, climbing up the masked boy's leg and sitting comfortably on his shoulder, pressing it's face lovingly against his cheek.

"He's a stray," the boy said, flipping his mask back into his wild brown hair to reveal a round face with large amber eyes, "But I think of him as my own. I'm Wybie, by the way." He hopped off the bike and stumbled over to Norman, holding out his hand, "Wybie Lovat."

"Er, Norman," Norman responded, shaking his hand and noticing that they both had a similar hunched posture, "Norman Babcock. Do you live here?"

Wybie shook his head. "Nah, I live in a house not far from here. I'm not aloud in The Pink Palace."

"It's called The Pink Palace?" Norman said, now too amused to care about the girlish title.

Wybie nodded. "Yeah, didn't you see the sign?"'

"Must've... must've missed it..." Norman murmured, trailing off as movement in the large window near the top of the house distracted him. He narrowed his eyes in the effort to see better, and saw a girl moving about, grabbing random things off of her windowsill and tossing them into the satchel that sat against her waist.

"Who's that?" he asked curiously, taking a step forward. He wasn't aware that he was standing a little straighter. The girl, unaware of being watched, turned and walked out of sight.

"That's Coraline Jones," Wybie said, closely examining a particular lens on his mask, "She's my best friend." He shuffled his feet nervously. "She's... seen some things."

Norman turned to face him. "What do you mean?"

Wybie ducked his head, fumbling with his hands. "F-forget I mentioned it."

Norman raised an eyebrow. Wybie was obviously very uncomfortable with his own slip of the tongue, so Norman didn't ask further.

"Norman!"

He sighed, turning to see his sister marching towards him. "Didn't I tell you to get my things?" she shrieked. Her eyes widened. "Wow, are you standing straight? That's unlike you."

She stopped in front of the two boys, and looked at Wybie with mock shock. "Are you real, or am I seeing them too?" she asked sarcastically, jabbing Wybie on the forehead with her index finger as if to see if he was solid. He winced as her fingernail stabbed his forehead. "Norman, I didn't know you could make _real_ friends."

"What does she mean?" Wybie asked, turning to Norman and rubbing the small crescent-shaped indent on his own forehead, "Is she seeing what? What does she mean by "Real Friends?" Are you like an animal person, or...?"

Norman shook his head, implying that the matter should be dropped. "I'll get your things, Courtney." he muttered, slumping over once more and walking over to the car.

"I'll help!" Wybie said eagerly, sprinting after him and clumsily stumbling over various pebbles. Norman chuckled and opened the trunk, before groaning.

The trunk was full of pink travel bags.

"Well, this should be fun," Wybie said, attempting to cheer Norman up a bit. Norman didn't answer, but when Wybie's back was turned, he allowed himself to smile.

It was nice to have a friend to help.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Norman was surprised.

His room was enormous, bigger than his old living room. Large landscape windows covered one wall, rows of shelves were installed in another. His closet could easily hold an elephant. He even had his own bathroom.

He set to work unpacking a good deal of his things. It was at the beginning of emptying the second box that his arms prickled, and he looked up, clutching the alarm clock he had just produced from the box.

Nobody was there.

He set the clock on his bedside table and stepped forward quietly, listening intently. He decided to check the two most cliche places ghosts preferred to reside in; inside the closet and beneath the bed.

Trying to breathe as quietly as possible, he tiptoed to his closet door, before grasping the doorknob and flinging the door open. He saw a few rusty coat hangers and nothing else.

Closing the closet door, he made his way to his bed, kneeling down and pressing his cheek to the carpet as he scrutinized the depths of beneath his mattress. There were no ghosts, but there was something...

"Huh?"

He pulled out a doll, coated in spiderwebs. He dusted it with his sleeve and examined it closely. It was made out of fabric, with black hair of yarn and a polka-dotted house dress. It's eyes were shiny black buttons, and they were very creepy. Norman loved creepy things, so he set it beside his alarm clock, planning on inquiring his mother about it later.

It was lunchtime when he had finally finished.

"Did you get unpacked, sweetie?" Norman's mother asked, setting a bowl of pasta in front of him.

"Oh, _I_ did!" Courtney exclaimed before he could reply, "My bedroom is _huge_ mom, you wouldn't believe it."

Norman took a few bites of his lunch before reaching into his sweater pocket and pulling out the doll. "I found this in my room," he told them, holding it up, "Do you think it belonged to those women who lived here before us?"

His family stared.

"You found what in your room?" his father asked through a mouthful of macaroni.

"Yeah Norman, what are you talking about?" his sister asked, looking up from her plate of low-carb salad, "And why is your arm up like that? Are you _seriously_ raising your hand at the table?"

Norman looked at his hand, which was holding the doll, then looked back at his family, who were staring at him.

"The... the doll!" he exclaimed, bewildered, and shook it a little so it's hair swung from side to side, "The one that I'm holding right now!"

"It's a bit hot in here," his mother murmured, leaning across the table to place the back of her hand on his forehead, "The air conditioner's broken, perhaps the heat has gotten to your head?"

Norman looked at her helplessly, waving the doll in her face. "You _really_ don't see it?"

"Norman," his mother said firmly, "I want you to go upstairs and take off that ratty hoodie, you must be boiling in that thing. Then I want you to go for a walk outside and get some fresh air. Alright?"

Norman was puzzled. But he stood, gripping the doll by its left arm, and stomped up the stairs.

"And bring the air freshener down while you're at it!" his father called, "This whole place smells like old tea and dog fur."

...

Norman hopped down the front steps, careful to avoid the snails lounging on them. Having no particular preferred destination, he blindly walked forward in the hopes of finding something interesting.

He wasn't disappointed.

After having gone around the house he found an enormous garden. There was a fountain, a birdbath, and even a little bridge. The whole place was painted pink with tulips, except a small area in the corner, where a beet patch grew.

This is where Norman hid the doll.

Careful not to disturb the tulips around him, he walked over to the strange patch, tucking the doll within the many beets and covering with stray leaves.

He was terribly concerned. All his life, he'd been able to see people his parents couldn't. All of the undead, while invisible to anyone else, was always in plain sight for him.

Never before had there been an inanimate object only he could see. The idea was foreign to him, and made him uncomfortable. He was glad to be rid of this doll. He had no urge to inquire further, he merely wanted it gone.

As he was turning to leave, his ears rang, his skin prickled, and he sensed a presence so strong he couldn't breathe properly for a few moments.

Something sped by him out of the corner of his eye.

"Who's there?" he gasped, whirling around.

It zoomed by again, right in front of him, but it was going too fast for him to see it clearly. The only thing he made out in its two-second-long appearance was black hair and something silver and metallic, something metal, attached to it.

"Who are you?" he shouted, turning his head frantically from side to side, pressing his back to the wall beneath the bridge, "What do you want?" He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Who are you talking to?"

He reopened his eyes, and looked up in the direction of the speaking. There was a girl standing on the small bridge above him. She leaned over the railing to get a better look at his face, making it only a few inches away from her own.

"Did the cat scare you?" she asked, and he gasped as she hopped over the railing, landing in front of him smoothly, "It scared me when I first moved here." She looked him over briefly. "You know, slouching's not good for your posture."

Norman examined her closely. She definitely wasn't the person he had seen. She wasn't holding anything metal, besides a small pair of pliers. Her hair was navy blue, not black, and was topped with a Japanese schoolboy hat. In her other hand she held what looked like either a small branch or a big stick, which was forked at the end.

"You're Coraline Jones," he said suddenly, remembering her from the window this morning, "You're my neighbor, right?"

She sighed. "It's _Cor_–" She paused, and narrowed her eyes. "Did you say Coraline?" she asked, leaning in uncomfortably close and pointing an accusing finger at him, "_Don't lie_!"

Norman, already pressed against the wall, attempted to step back farther to get away from her glaring stare. "Y-yeah, I said Coraline," he stuttered, "Is that wrong?"

The girl backed up again, allowing him his personal space once more. She placed two fingers on her own cheeks and began trailing them down her chin, as though she were thoughtfully stroking an invisible beard.

After a moment of squinting at him, her face smoothed out and she gave him a half smile. "Nobody's ever gotten my name right on the first go." She put her hands on her hips. "You're alright, I guess," she told him.

"Er, thank you," Norman mumbled, "I guess."

"Do you know what this is?" she asked suddenly, holding out the forked stick.

"Um, no..." Norman said, reaching out to touch it, to see if it was anything more than what he assumed to be just a stick.

She quickly swung it out of his reach. "Don't touch it!" she exclaimed urgently, "It 's poison oak. That's why I wear gloves." She held out her hand, waving her fingers at him to show off her orange and yellow striped gloves. "It's a Dousing Rod," she told him.

"Right..." Norman replied, his hands fumbling nervously for his pockets, before he remembered he had left his sweater back upstairs as he'd been told. "So, what does it do?"

Coraline grinned. "I'll show you."

She closed her eyes and raised the 'rod' before her, before opening her mouth wide and shouting; "Magic Douser, Magic Douser, show me... The Well!"

Norman jumped as a clap of thunder shook the garden.

Coraline twitched, her eyes still closed. She then made a huge performance of jerking about, before taking off and running around in random circles.

"What are you doing?" Norman called, running after her and covering his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter.

"I'm not doing it, the Douser is!" Coraline laughed, before sprinting out of the garden in the opposite direction of the house. Norman quickly followed.

They ran for a little less than five minutes, before Coraline came to an abrupt halt. Norman nearly ran into her.

"Here we are," she told him, gesturing to a circle of mushrooms in the ground.

"Dirt?" Norman groaned, a bit disappointed that such an interesting person led him to such a boring place.

Coraline snorted. "No,"she said, kneeling down and brushing away some leaves and dirt, "_This_."

Norman watched as she uncovered a circular piece of wood. She then placed her fingers around the edge, and, with some effort, pried the piece of wood out of the ground like a lid. This action revealed a hole.

"What is it?" Norman asked, stepping forward and leaning over. He couldn't see the bottom, it was too deep and dark.

"It's a well," Coraline told him, standing beside him and bending forward as well, "A friend of mine told me that if you stood at the bottom and looked up, you'd see a sky full of stars in the middle of the day."

Norman looked up at the grey sky. "That can't be possible," he said, his eyebrows pinched together, "There are too many clouds here. You wouldn't be able to see anything. Does the sun ever come out here?"

Coraline turned away from him. "I'm just glad it comes up at all."

Norman knelt down, putting his

whole head into the hole, wondering if he'd be able to see anything if he got closer. "Well, of course the sun comes up," he said, and his voice echoed through the depths of the well, "It can't be dark forever."

Coraline smirked. "Of course, you're the expert on these things."

Norman shrugged, raising his head once more and looking up at her. "That friend, the one that told you about the stars," he said slowly, "That was Wybie, right?"

"Oh, you've met him?" she replied, sitting beside him.

Norman nodded. "Yeah, he said you guys were... were pretty close."

Coraline nodded. "Oh yeah, he's my best friend," she told him earnestly, "He talks too much, but I've gotten used to it."

Feeling incredibly awkward for his semi-personal question, Norman didn't respond for a few seconds, until he got an idea.

"So, sky full of stars, huh?" he said thoughtfully, "Is it true?"

"I dunno," Coraline muttered, "No one would be alive to tell, would they?"

"We could."

It was a whisper, but it could've been an ear-piercing scream and Coraline wouldn't have jumped any higher. "What?!" she shouted, "Are you crazy? You realize you just threatened suicide, right?"

Norman backed up a little at her outburst. "I'm serious," he insisted, "It'd be easy, really, with a bit of rope, we could–"

"YOU could!" Coraline snapped, "Not WE could, there's no way I'm going down there." She took a deep breath, placing a hand over her eyes. "There're things down there you couldn't imagine."

"Could you?" Norman said softly.

Coraline scowled, and uncovered her eyes. "I don't need to imagine what I've already seen."

She huffed, and stood up. "Nice meeting you, Norman," she said somberly, before turning and walking in the direction of the house.

Norman was still sitting, a bit dazed. He wanted to say something, apologize, but what would he be apologizing for? He didn't say anything offensive, from what he could tell. He had no idea why she was so furious about. But he had to say something.

After a split second, he called; "How do you know my name?"

Coraline turned, briefly, and said, with an expressionless face:

"The cat told me."

Then she was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Coraline ripped off her gloves, tossing them irritably on the porch. She sat on the front steps, setting her chin in her hands and glaring at nothing.

"That bad, eh?" a voice thick with an accent said, and Coraline started.

"You scared me, Mr. B!" she exclaimed, but she was smiling.

There was a grunting sound, and Mr. Bobinsky was suddenly upside down and face to face with her, hanging by his ankles from the railing above, "Ze boys, zey should not bozzer leetle Caroline as zis one does," he said, falling down and skillfully landing on his hands.

Coraline rolled her eyes. "He doesn't bother me," she grumbled.

Mr. Bobinsky straightened himself, and produced a beet from his pocket. "You didn't correct me ven I called you Caroline," he stated simply, munching into the beet and chewing with relish, "Zat shows how upset you are."

Coraline crossed her arms and huffed. "I'm not upset," she insisted, "I'm just used to you calling me Caroline, is all."

Mr. Bobinsky shook his head, making a tsk tsk sound with his teeth. His face lit up as he apparently remembered something. "Oh, Caroline," he said, bending down so their faces were level, "I was at beet patch, getting more of zese," (He held out his bitten beet), "Ven I stumbled upon zis..."

He reached into his pocket once more and pulled out... nothing.

Coraline stared. "Um... What am I looking at?" she said, confused.

Mr. Bobinsky sighed, and thrust his hand into his pocket again. "I can't tell if I've gotten it, you see," he told her, and pulled his hand our again. In it, Coraline saw a doll.

"I don't know what it is, you see," Mr. B. continued, "I feel as zough I am holding mere air. But ze mice, zey say you can see ze object."

Coraline felt numb as she looked down at the doll in the polka dot house dress and the button eyes. "Where did it come from?" she said in a painful choked whisper.

"I told you," he said, "I was at my beet patch, and ze mice said it was zere. Zey said ze new boy found it here."

Coraline clutched her head in her hands. Mr. B. was fading away. Everything was fading away into nothing. She looked up and screamed as an enormous button fell upon her, smushing her beneath its weight.

_There's one _tiny_ thing you need to do first._

_So sharp you won't feel a thing._

_Soon you'll see things our way._

_You know I love you._

_Evil witch!_

_I'll give you to the count of three._

_I'm not scared!_

_One._

_PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME._

_Two._

_I'LL DIE WITHOUT YOU._

_Three._

_COME BACK._

_Terrible danger, girl!_

_CORALINE._

_Making up a song about_

_CORALINE._

_Our eyes will be on_

_CORALINE._

_Through the little dolls eyes..._

_CORALINE._

_The Beldam._

_CORALINE._

_..._

"Coraline? Coraline?"

She looked up. Mr. B. was gone. She was in her bed.

"Mom?" she called through chattering teeth.

"No," a voice said, "It's me."

That definitely wasn't her mother.

"N-Norman?"

He came into view, his straight hair the most prominent of his features.

"Your parents are out," he explained, "You were on the steps. You were- Do you have asthma or anything? It looked like some kind of attack, I didn't know what..." He trailed off feebly.

Coraline turned over, causing her head to ring with pain, to look at her clock. It was 5:37pm.

"I've been asleep for three hours?" she exclaimed, leaping out of bed. It was as though she were made of rubber; She immediately collapsed to the floor.

"Take it easy!" Norman told her, stepping forward and taking her arms, helping her back up, "I think you're in shock, it's happened to me plenty. That nausea will pass, along with the dizziness. You'll be fine."

Coraline stared at him. "How did you know which part of the house I lived in?" she asked.

"Well..." Norman ducked his head, and peeked over at the door, where the ghosts of Miss. Spink and Miss. Forcible stood, watching Coraline with deep concern. "I had help..."

Coraline followed his gaze, and saw nothing. "I... think I need some water," she mumbled weakly, heading towards the door.

Norman shook his head. "You wait here," he told her, "I'll get it, okay?"

Coraline couldn't refuse, she was too weak. She dragged her feet back to her bed as he went out the door. As she was getting settled beneath the covers, something brushed her leg. She fumbled around under the blanket until she found the doll.

It stared up at her innocently, it's black eyes gleaming.

"Why are you holding that?"

Coraline gasped, and looked up to see Norman staring open-mouthed at her, a cup if water in his hand. "That was quick," was all she could say.

"You can _see_ it?" he whispered when she didn't answer, "You're... _holding it_?"

They both looked at each other a long time, both open-mouthed and wide-eyed. "Oh dear," Miss. Spink murmured in the corner, though Coraline couldn't hear her, "This is not good at all."

"Norman..." Coraline said after a while, "I think... we have a lot to explain to each other."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Norman was feeling very awkward.

Not the usual inevitable awkward he felt every day.

He felt the kind of awkward you get when you're carrying a girl.

He went slowly, as the stairs curved and Coraline was still woozy. "Which way now?" he asked when he got to the bottom step.

"To the left," Coraline, Miss Spink, and Miss Forcible said in unison.

Stumbling beneath Coraline's weight, he made his way through the door that lead to what was obviously a living room.

"You can set me down now," she told him, "So I can show you."

He did so, and Coraline, feeling a bit stronger, confidently made her way to the chest of junk drawers that covered the source of her nightmares for the past five years

Norman helped shove the drawers aside, revealing a small door. Coraline visibly cringed, and instinctively buried her face into his chest, causing his cheeks to crimson like cherries.

"She's... she's in there?" he whispered, though he knew the answer. He could feel it, deep down, a subtle disturbance that churned in his gut. Or maybe that was just the butterflies Coraline's touch was giving him. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he gestured for Coraline to wait where she was while he crouched down, pressing his ear to the dusty door.

_!_

_!_

_!_

Norman gasped and backed away, panting and clutching his chest.

"What, what is it?" Coraline exclaimed, her hands covering her mouth in shock at Norman's startling reaction.

Norman gulped air, coughing occasionally. "She's... angry..." he croaked, "Coraline, she's so angry. Her anger, it did something to my heart, it's going so fast. I haven't felt anger like this since–"

He swallowed, biting on his knuckles until they were white.

Coraline nodded, understanding. She knelt beside him and took his hand, squeezing it tightly in the effort to comfort him.

They both jumped at the loud banging sound on the door. "Coraline," someone shouted, "Coraline, open up!"

"Wybie." Norman and Coraline said together, and stood up to answer the door.

They opened it to find Wybie gasping and sweating, as though he had sprinted the whole distance from his house.

"Coraline," he panted, "The Well, it's–" He froze, taking in the sight of the two in front of him. Norman was suddenly aware that Coraline was still holding his hand.

Wybie's cheeks visibly reddened, so he finished his sentence while looking at the ground. "You need to come and see The Well," he mumbled.

Coraline and Norman exchanged glances, and the three sprinted out the door. Because Wybie took the lead, Norman could easily see his shoulders droop a bit more than they already were.

...

**WELCOME HOME CORALINE**

Coraline fell to her knees as she stared at the words, shaped on the ground by buttons. Norman and Wybie both sat beside her, each with an arm around her shoulder as the three embraced in a group hug.

The skies were beginning to darken when an old woman's voice started shouting in the distance. "Wyborn!" she called, "Come home!"

Wybie broke away from the group. "I should probably head off," he told them, and ran in the direction of his persistent grandmother, who called his name four more times.

"I suppose we should head home too," Norman murmured, helping her to her feet. They both walked back in the direction of The Pink Palace, leaning against each other weakly. They agreed Norman should keep the doll in his possession, so they stopped by Coraline's place first.

...

"It was right here!" Coraline insisted, "I set it down on the coffee table while we were moving the drawers!"

They searched for half an hour, with no avail. It was when Courtney came to Coraline's door, screeching for Norman's return, that they were forced to stop their search.

Coraline gripped Norman's wrist. "You can't leave me here alone while it's still in the house," Coraline said, desperation and fear in her voice. She was ashamed of her own vulnerability; She was normally very valiant. But under the circumstances, she felt like she was eleven again.

"You're not alone," Norman told her, "I'm in the same house, right next door. You'll be alright." Reluctantly, he pulled away from Coraline's grasp and was yanked out the door by a very irritable Courtney.

"God Norman, I don't have time for your girlfriend drama," Courtney huffed, "There's a bunch of cop cars at that house over there, so I need to fill up on some gossip material."

Norman stared in horror as Courtney brought them to a stop in front of Wybie's house, where red and blue lights flashed incessantly. An old woman, Wybie's grandmother, was sobbing to a police man, who was attempting to calm her down. "He never came home!" she cried, "Where is he? Wyborn! Wyborn!"

"Norman!" Courtney exclaimed, as Norman took off, ducking beneath the caution tape and ignoring the shouts of the police that attempted to stop him. He ran through the door, searching for Wybie's bedroom.

It was calling to him, he could feel it; It wanted to be found. He dashed into Wybie's room and threw back the covers of his bed.

A doll in the form of Wybie laid sprawled across the mattress, its button eyes glinting in the blue and red flashes from the window.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Coraline's world was crashing down.

As Norman told her what he'd seen, she stared straight ahead, feeling faint. It wasn't until Norman pulled the doll out of his pocket that Coraline finally gave some form of response.

That response was fury.

"She thinks she can take my best friend?" she growled, standing and stomping upstairs.

Norman followed. "Coraline?" he called after her, but she ignored him. He walked in to find her aggressively shoving things into her satchel. She started getting so violent that she ended up breaking a glass cup that had been sitting on her dresser.

"She thinks she can take my best friend?" she repeated, only this time her voice cracked.

"Coraline, calm down," Norman said quietly, though he felt panicked as well.

She turned to look at him; There was fire blazing in her eyes.

There were also tears.

"She took Wybie?" she whispered, as though Norman could answer with anything but no.

Norman looked helplessly at her, before nodding. Coraline exhaled sharply, grasping her head. She leaned against the wall, before sliding down into a sitting position, with her legs folded and pressed against her chest.

Norman walked over and sat beside her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"We'll get him back," he whispered into her ear, brushing a lock of hair from her damp face.

Coraline shook her head. "The key, it's gone," she said, her voice muffled against her knees, "Wybie and I, we threw it into the well.

"Then how did she get out?" Norman asked, more to himself than Coraline, "How could she have..."

Coraline raised her head when she heard the realization in his voice. Her look quickly changed from sorrow to horror.

"No," she said, gripping his arm tightly, "No, of course she didn't. There's no way..."

But there was. And she knew it.

Norman nodded somberly, confirming her thoughts. When no one spoke, he did:

"The Well."


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Wybie groaned, rubbing his forehead, where a sharp pain nagged at him.

A gentle hand moved his own out of the way, before placing a warm damp cloth over his forehead, making him sigh as the pain in his head ebbed away.

"Shh..." a voice, most likely belonging to the owner of the hand, murmured, "Just rest for a moment, darling. You've had a long fall, and a hard one by the look of that bump you've got."

Wybie opened his eyes.

"Mom?"

The gentle face of his mother looked back at him. She looked just as he remembered, her hair curly and soft, her skin smooth and dark, her smile bright and dimpled, and her eyes... _her eyes_...

"You have... _buttons_," he said, confused, still too asleep to understand what that meant.

She grinned. "Do you like them?" she asked, tapping one with her finger.

He stared. Button eyes. _Button eyes._ "You're not–" he choked, rolling off the bed he'd been laying on and backing away, "You're– you're _her_..."

She looked only mildly startled. "Dear, you must've hit your head harder than I thought," she murmured, walking over to him and taking his face in her hands, "Why don't you come downstairs for some hot chocolate? I know it's your favorite."

"We don't have a downst–" he began, before gasping at the sight of his old bedroom. His bed, with the rocket-ship quilt, sat in the corner, beneath his Bugs Bunny poster. In the corner was his dresser, covered in pencils and paper and crayons, where he drew comics. Glow-in- the-dark stars dotted the ceiling, while milky moonlight streamed through the green curtains, lighting the entire room.

He hadn't seen this room since he was seven.

"I– I don't–" he stuttered, walking over to the window. There was the yard, with the garden and sandbox and the swing set, "What..."

His mother followed, viewing the yard with him. "You're home, sweetie," she whispered.

Wybie jumped when the doorbell rang. "Oh," his mother exclaimed, smiling, "She's here!"

"Who's here?" he asked, following her out into the familiar living room. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, and all thoughts of fear and anger vanished.

He was home.

His mother opened the front door, and there stood...

Coraline.

"C-Coraline?" he breathed.

She smiled at him in a way she never had before. It captivated him so much he completely disregarded the buttons that substituted her brown eyes.

She lurched forward, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug, throwing him off guard. Giving a breathy chuckle, he hugged her back.

The Other Mother smiled as Wybie's mind clouded with his own infatuation, slowly but surely making his brain unaware and oblivious to the horrors of the world she created.

Something deep inside her stirred hungrily, but she mentally hushed it, assuring it that she will be fed in the very near future.

The Other Coraline, still hugging Wybie, gave her a hateful look over his shoulder. She merely turned away, feeling no guilt, no shame, nothing but nagging hunger and vicious greed.

Her plan was unfolding nicely.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"Norman," Coraline said, trying to sound firm, but her voice cracked, "You know you don't have to do this."

Norman tightened the rope that was tied around his belt and didn't meet Coraline's eyes.

"It's the only way to save him," he said simply, pleased that his own voice was calm and toneless.

"I'll– I'll do it!" Coraline exclaimed, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking, "Just untie the rope, and I'll tie it around my waist instead–"

Norman backed away as she reached for the rope, and she ended up grabbing nothing but air.

"I'm not gonna make you go back to her," Norman told her, checking to see that the other end of the rope was tied tightly to a nearby boulder, before peering down the well. It stared at him ominously like a large black eye, full of dirty secrets and harsh intentions.

"Hey, I just realized something..." he murmured, "If this is a second entrance to the Other World, and you threw that bundle that held her hand and the key down there..."

"I basically just gave her back what she needed... I just threw the key back to her!" Coraline exclaimed in sudden realization, "That's how she got out!"

Norman nodded, and turned towards the well, his mind set and determined. "Then this is the way in," he said, "I'm going. You're not gonna stop me, either," he added as he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not trying to stop you any more," Coraline mumbled, and quickly stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, "I'm wishing you luck."

Norman's face instantly darkened, making his freckles pop out against his red skin, but he nodded, took a deep breath, and lowered one foot into the well, feeling along the wall for the jagged bricks that lined it before lowering his entire body into its dark depths.

"Be careful!" Coraline called, kneeling down on her hands and knees and looking down at him, their noses almost touching.

"I will," he told her, "These bricks are jutting out of the wall, I can just climb down them like a ladder."

Coraline looked at him with an expression of worry, gratefulness, and something else he couldn't quite identify. Then, without thinking, he shot forward, closing the distance between their faces and kissing her full on the mouth. He felt her gasp and saw her eyes widen, before his foot slipped, and he fell.

The last thing he saw was her shocked face with it's bright pink cheeks, shrinking away as he fell deeper. Soon she was completely gone, and all he saw were stars.

...

_***Hello readers!_

_I just wanted to apologize for my very long absence, as I've hit Writer's Block on all three of my stories. I also wanted to thank you all for finding this particular story worth reading, as it's my favorite so far; I really appreciate the kind words, constructive criticism, and unyielding attention. If there seems to be any OOC issues in this, I'm sorry. Some of it may be intentional, as Norman, Coraline, and Wybie are all teenagers now, but if there's any glaring error, please tell me so I can work on it next time. Also, my chapters are short, and I'm sorry for that too, but that seems to be the only way I write best for some reason. I'll try to post two chapters each time to make up for it._

_Thanks for your time!_


	8. Chapter 8

8.

Coraline clapped her hand over her mouth in horror as she watched Norman fall. Remembering the rope, she turned to the boulder, only to find the rope snapping and falling down the well before she had time to act.

A choking sound erupted from her throat, and she fell to her knees, pressing her face into her hands.

Something soft nudged irritably against the backs of her hands, and she raised her head. The large greenish-yellowish eyes of the black cat stared at her. He nodded his head in the direction of the house, and gestured for her to follow him.

Gathering her strength, she did, keeping her hands in her pockets in the attempt to stop them from shaking. The cat lead her to the front door, which she opened, and darted into the living room. Coraline hesitantly stepped in, to find the door to the Other World wide open. A familiar tube, glowing swirls of pink and blue, beckoned to her.

Her lips stretched apart as she let out a blood-curdling scream.

...

Norman groaned and opened his eyes, and with a jolt of shock realized that he was floating. The grass below him was two feet away. He attempted to move, and found that he wasn't floating but was in fact dangling, the rope tied around his waste having caught on a tree branch. He quickly untied himself and fell the short distance to the ground.

Dusting off his jeans, he looked up, and saw a house he did not recognize, a small cottage-like building with smoke billowing from the red brick chimney. Two people stood on the front porch.

Norman quickly ducked behind a nearby bush, peeking through its branches intently. He was startled to see Wybie, sitting comfortably on a bench. He had been expecting chains, or even a cage, something evil the Other Mother had decided on. Instead, Wybie sat, hands in his lap, talking shyly to... Coraline?

"LEAVE!"

Norman jumped, and turned to the direction of the voice. There, a few feet away, stood a ghost. At least, he thought it was a ghost. It was as transparent as any other he'd seen, and it hovered a few inches off the ground like an ordinary ghost.

However, it appeared to be a pile of sand in a subtle human form. The sand moved about, falling and climbing and crawling like a million tiny yellow ants. A large gap opened where Norman suspected the mouth was, and the ghost spoke.

"You must leave before Mother finds you," it said in a voice that seemed to lack age or gender, "She'll soon smell you and crave you and hunt for you and it'll be no use running."

"Who are you?" Norman asked quietly.

The ghost bowed its head, and sand trickled down its face and onto its chest, joining the rest of the squirming body. "I have many identities."

Norman watched as the ghost's form changed into an old woman. She had wispy grey hair and wore an outfit not from this time. She appeared to be from the early 1930s. Two gleaming black buttons replaced her eyes.

"I was the Other Grandmother of Timothy Smith, the first She took," she said in a wavering and whispery voice.

Her form changed once more, her hunched back straightening, her wrinkled face smoothing, her hair getting shorter and thicker and darker. But the button eyes stayed the same. Soon, a man stood before Norman. He wore a slightly more modern, yet still outdated, outfit.

"I was the Other Father to Mary Robinson, the second She took," he said in a booming yet sorrowful voice.

His body contorted again, all changing but the eyes, until the ghost became a little girl with dark skin and ribbons in her braided hair.

"I was the Other Sister to Cynthia Lovat, the third she took."

For the last time, the ghost changed, turning into a man once more. This time, he had tousled brown hair, dark circles beneath his button eyes, and wore flannel pajamas with orange money slippers.

"I was the Other Father to Coraline Jones, the fourth, and the one She failed to take," he told Norman, "I was Her accomplice for over a century, helping Her lure in the children She stole, because I knew if I didn't obey, I would die. She created me, sewed me together and made me Her slave."

Norman stared at him, open- mouthed. "Were you her only helper? Were there more?"

The ghost nodded solemnly.

Suddenly, another ghost of sand appeared, right beside the first. It started flickering, turning into a little girl, then a little boy, then an infant, then, briefly, into Wybie. It's speed increased as it continued to change into the same four people. It gained speed, until the faces seemed to morph together, and the only visible things in it's rapid transformations were the button eyes.

More ghosts appeared, following suit, flickering into person after person so quickly all you could make out were their eyes. Soon the entire front yard was full of them. Norman caught brief glimpses of Miss Spink, Miss Forcible, Mr. B from upstairs, even plants and flowers.

"She can't see us," the first ghost said, "But you can. Please... She punished us... She killed us... We're trapped... We're lost... Please... Set us free..."

As it said this, it and all the other ghosts evaporated into dust.


End file.
